


An Afternoon Visit

by Still_and_Clear



Series: In the Basin [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flirting, Friendship, Romance, Sexual Tension, fredsquared - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:10:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_and_Clear/pseuds/Still_and_Clear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie continues her hospital visits to Frederick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon Visit

**Author's Note:**

> More fun with FredSquared. I find Frederick's pretentious office pretty funny, and wanted to give Freddie the chance to prowl round. This all takes place before Frederick gets out of hospital, of course, and before he and Freddie are officially an item.
> 
> I also wanted to look at Frederick's response to his scar without completely woobie-fying him. He does take a kicking in canon, and he has his insecurities - but he's a survivor, with a pretty high opinion of himself, and I don't think he'd crumble. Equally, I wanted to think about Freddie being interested in someone romantically, and concerned for their welfare, without making her too soft or sugary sweet.
> 
> I decided that Frederick's bizarre trivia fact about Romans eating flamingo tongue was indicative of a wider interest in Roman history, as opposed to a wider interest in flamingos or tongues.
> 
> As ever - comments are very welcome :)

Freddie closed the heavy door behind her and looked around curiously. Permission to visit any of the BSHCI’s inmates in the past had been sought over the phone, so – despite several visits to the hospital - she had never actually been in Frederick’s office before. The room was warm and drowsy from the afternoon sun streaming in the window, and felt very still, deprived of its usual occupant and blanketed in a thick silence. 

She quickly spotted the filing cabinet he had described to her, tucked away in the corner of the room. She decided, though, to indulge her curiosity (not that she made a habit of curtailing it) and take a leisurely stroll round before collecting the files for their article. Get to know her interviewee. He had given her his key, after all, that was practically permission to snoop – he must have known she would prowl around. She had teased him about handing over the key to his office so easily, asking whether it was wise – given her reputation as an unscrupulous investigative journalist - but he had only given her a sly, lop-sided grin in response, settling back into his pillows, and she had felt a silly little catch in her throat at the gesture of trust, so rarely offered to her. 

Walking slowly forward, she looked at the bookshelves first. These were filled with rows of leather-bound collected volumes of psychiatric publications and medical journals, the titles gold-embossed. She suspected they made an impressive backdrop when Frederick was seated at his desk, which was probably exactly why he had chosen them. She continued walking alongside the bookshelves to stand behind his desk and looked out, noting – to her amusement – that the chairs in front of the desk were just slightly lower than his own. As she walked past, her hand stretched out, unbidden, and she dragged her fingertips lightly along the back of his chair. 

The rest of the room seemed to be much as she would have expected: showy, pretentious, masculine, traditional. Pomposity par excellence. A couple of small Roman-looking busts. Framed maps, a decanter of expensive brandy, and an oil painting of a naval scene. An image of Napoleon flashed into her head, and she suppressed a grin. She had managed to get a look at the crime-scene photos of his house, and was a little surprised by how different the décor here seemed, this heavy and traditional, his own house bright and modern – although both seemed to be put together with an audience in mind. Which was to his personal taste? Were either of them? She wondered what he would think of her own small apartment. She wondered how he would look _in_ her own small apartment. She smiled slyly.

Bringing herself back to her task, she walked over to the filing cabinet and retrieved the files he had mentioned. She locked the door behind her as she left the room, and turning to leave, found herself staring directly at a broad chest wearing a white orderly’s uniform. Startled, she backed up.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone deliberately sharp to compensate for the physical imbalance.

The man looked awkward. "You have Dr Chilton’s key," he said.

"He _gave_ me his key," said Freddie. "We are discussing a possible article." The man looked vaguely familiar to her, and she realised that he had been one of the men who had escorted her to her interview with Abel Gideon.

"We heard he was in hospital but we weren’t sure which," he said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. Freddie peeped round the bulk of him, and noticed another – equally large man – standing awkwardly at the doorway.

She sighed impatiently. "Look, if you’re concerned about some sort of breach of security - I really do have his permission – I have his key, and you can check with his secretary when she gets back….."

He interrupted her. "No….it’s...." 

He actually shifted from foot to foot, the movement ill-fitting with his imposing frame. Freddie stared. 

"We were going to send something, but we weren’t sure…." 

She watched him reach into his pocket, extract a handful of wrinkled notes, and press them into her own hand. He stared somewhere over her shoulder, obviously embarrassed. 

"Could you get a card, or.... whatever?" 

She nodded, slowly. 

"I didn’t think Dr Chilton was especially popular amongst the staff," she said, frowning. 

He shrugged. "Maybe not the other _doctors_ , no. But he’s decent to the orderlies."

Freddie guessed that Frederick – especially after the incident with Gideon – was keen to ensure that he was flanked by loyal, burly orderlies at all times, and could easily imagine him treating them better than the rest of the staff. She thought of his interest in Roman history, and was amused at the idea of him creating his own personal Praetorian Guard. She looked up at the guard and smiled. 

"I’m sure he’ll be touched," she said. "What are your names?" 

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Freddie arrived at Frederick’s room door, slightly breathless, having stopped along the way to buy some flowers and a card with the money that orderlies Roberts and Sigurdsson had given her. She remembered feeling vaguely touched that Alana Bloom had apparently bothered to attend her funeral, and wondered how Frederick would react to this small kindness. Patting her hair down a little, she knocked the door and stepped into the room. 

And into the end of what had clearly been a somewhat hostile conversation. Frederick was addressing a nurse in particularly acid tones. For her part, the nurse retorted coldly that she was only repeating what the doctor had already told him, and - brushing past Freddie, her expression pinched - walked smartly from the room. Freddie bit her lip. 

"I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were busy. I can wait if…" 

"Not at all." He said quickly, his voice somewhat hard. "Please." He gestured to her usual chair. 

She sat down slowly, placing the flower arrangement in her lap, wondering why they had regressed to this more formal tone. He was sitting on the bed, staring straight ahead at the wall, his brow furrowed. He suddenly took a deep breath, and – squaring his jaw, turned to face her fully. She could see, now, that his bandage had been removed, and there was a round, shiny scar on his face, just below his left cheekbone. He raised his chin a little, almost challenging her. Freddie recalled seeing him at Will Graham's trial, and admiring the fact that he had clearly chosen the showiest cane he could find to cope with his injuries – celebrating his survival, instead of meekly accepting the role of victim. Her eyes flicked quickly up from the scar to his eyes, which were watching her, defiant, but wary. 

She realised, suddenly, that he was not ashamed, but rather uncertain of how she would react to his wounded face. He was a vain man, although not without reason, she thought. He had thick dark hair – although that was currently looking a little dishevelled, limited to the spartan toiletries supplied by the hospital, she guessed. He also had wide green eyes which he seemed completely unable to prevent from broadcasting every thought running through his head. She had taken to deliberately scandalising him from time to time just to watch them widen and blink at her. In the evenings, working on her website, she had sometimes found her mind wandering to how other, softer expressions might look, and had smiled a small, secretive smile, before returning to her work. Now, though, his expression was not soft, but rather brittle. 

Freddie wondered how to tackle this. Although she suspected that Frederick was lonely enough to eagerly grasp any kindness that came his way, his considerable ego had been badly dented by the dance Hannibal had led him, and pity might simply make him prickly. While patient by nature, she decided that tiptoeing round this in the hopes he would slowly open up would only make things worse, and make her visit tense and strained when she had – truth be told – been looking forward to it after the long, cold, _boring_ day she had spent yesterday, standing expectantly at a crime scene. Besides which, it was not in Freddie’s nature to tiptoe round anything. 

She leaned back in her chair, regarding him calmly. “You must be relieved,” she said, smoothly. 

“Relieved?” He frowned in confusion. 

“To finally have the bandage off,” she said. “To see how small the wound is.” 

He looked at her, tilting his head slightly, analysing her words for sarcasm or insincerity. She watched him, her eyes steady on his, and saw his shoulders relax slightly as he decided he wasn’t being mocked 

“I have an impressive scar from work,” she said. “Killer who had been hanging around the crime scene to watch the police work panicked, and suddenly bolted. I was in the way. He sent me flying backwards against a pile of rusted old car parts.” 

“Where is it?” He asked curiously, before colouring as he realised how personal the question was. 

She decided to show him no mercy, and arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I know you quite well enough to show you mine, Dr Chilton”. He flushed scarlet, then, but she was rewarded with a crooked grin that wandered dangerously close to smarmy, and a heat in his stare that hadn’t been there before. She smirked back at him, enjoying the moment, and smugly congratulating herself at successfully shaking him out of his mood - ensuring a pleasant visit for herself. 

"I visited your office this morning," she said. She decided to indulge his ego a little. "Very impressive." 

His eyes glinted, enjoying this game. "Did you expect anything less?" He asked. 

She decided against answering this – Frederick’s ego having apparently recovered remarkably quickly – and smiled serenely instead, changing tack. 

"I ran into a couple of your colleagues." 

Frederick’s smile faded, and he looked slightly disgruntled. " Which ones?" He asked. "Dr Markowitz? Cameron? I’m sure they were practically breathless to hear more details of my misfortune." 

"No, not them." Freddie said. "And I wouldn’t have told them anything anyway." 

"Such discretion, Miss Lounds," he said, his voice teasing. 

"I am capable of it." She retorted. "On occasion. It wasn’t them, anyway. It was two of your orderlies, Roberts and Sigurdsson. They asked after your health. And sent these, she said, nodding down at the basket of flowers in her lap." She leaned over and set the flowers down on the bedside table unceremoniously. 

There was a pause. Frederick looked at them dubiously. "Roberts and Sigurdsson sent me flowers?" 

"Not _exactly_ ," she said. "I ran into them when I was getting the files you wanted. I think they wanted to send you something, but their masculine sensibilities prevented them from actually _shopping_ for it. They gave me money and asked me to choose something and get you a card. It’s the thought that counts, I suppose." 

Frederick seemed somewhat relieved at this. 

"Well," he said, "it’s more than anyone from the board of directors managed. Still, though, rather unexpected." He sounded faintly pleased. 

"It can be like that," said Freddie matter-of-factly, sorting through the files he had asked for. "Alana Bloom attended my funeral. Who’d have thought it?" 

"They do smell pleasant," he conceded, giving the bouquet a considering glance. "A welcome change from hospital antiseptic." 

"I didn’t think they smelled of anything," she said, frowning. She felt suddenly mischievous. "Maybe it’s me," she said airily, leaning over him a little, her hand on the bed, tilting her head to let him smell her neck. He stretched up towards her and sniffed lightly and then, either to please himself, or maybe to see how she reacted, he leaned closer and inhaled deeper, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist for balance. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she instinctively tilted her head towards him when he exhaled a warm breath against the side of her neck. She pulled away slowly and sat down with a bump, wondering if she was actually blushing for the first time in years. Frederick looked at her, his eyes exaggeratedly guileless. She narrowed her own eyes, enjoying this slight shift in their relationship, a little trickier than before - now that they were very definitely flirting with one another – but warmer, more intimate. 

They spent the next hour talking through the files she had brought, both relaxed, trading observations and comments. Frederick clearly enjoyed having an audience, and seemed animated, his scar forgotten for the time being as he held court. She made occasional remarks – she tried to keep up to date with current publications – psychopaths being her stock in trade. She had thought he might be condescending, after all, she wasn’t a professional, but he responded with alacrity – happy to talk, if keen to brag a little about his own ideas. She wondered how often he got to talk to colleagues like this, or if – like her – his interest in the unorthodox and tendency towards arrogance had made him something of a pariah, held firmly at arms’ length. She shuffled her chair a little closer to his bed, and leant an elbow on the mattress. 

The sound of movement in the corridor outside eventually drew their conversation to a close. The same sour-faced nurse from earlier stuck her head round the door. "It’s time for your evening meal, Mr Chilton," she said, in a clipped tone. 

" _Dr_ Chilton," he snapped, as she retreated back down the corridor. He pulled a face at Freddie. "The caring profession," he remarked, sarcastically. 

Freddie's smile was a little strained. She suddenly had a sure, quiet awareness that she didn’t want to leave: didn’t want to leave him to hospital food and an unsympathetic nurse, didn’t want to leave him sitting here alone to think about that scar, and - for the first time she could recall – didn’t particularly want to spend the evening alone in her apartment. Freddie had always seen herself as virtually self-sufficient before, strong and content in her ability to be alone, and this new feeling made her feel strangely off-balance. She looked down at her hands briefly, biting her lip, until a light touch to her wrist made her look up. 

"Are you quite alright, Miss Lounds?" Frederick asked, eyes concerned. 

And when was the last time anyone had been concerned for her? Not even after she had found Beverly Katz’ body at the observatory. She liked to cultivate a tough image, but still..... She smiled at him warmly. 

"Just contemplating how your article might be best structured," she lied glibly. "We went through a lot of material this afternoon." 

"I have faith in your abilities, Miss Lounds," said Frederick, his tone supercilious and his chest puffed, assured of his own discerning taste. "I read through some of your other work. It was really quite good." 

She pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. "Only quite good?" She asked, affecting a disappointed expression. 

His eyes widened as he realised his blunder. "I mean, that is…" He started to bluster, a blush creeping up his neck. 

She grinned. "I’m sure our work will be the pinnacle of my literary output to date," she said. " It will take more work, though. I’m free tomorrow, if...." 

"Assuming the nurse does not poison my evening meal, I am _entirely_ at your disposal, Miss Lounds," he said, giving her that grin that wandered between charming and smarmy again. 

She returned it in kind, watching his eyes gleam in response. "I’ll hold you to that, Dr Chilton," she said, her tone insinuating. 

She regarded him, head tilted. He looked tired – it had been a long afternoon, and he was still recuperating - but the brittleness from when she had first arrived was gone, and the card and flowers on his bedside table made the room seem somehow warmer. Freddie smiled. She walked to the door, deliberately swaying her hips just a fraction more than normal – knowing he was watching her - both of them already planning tomorrow’s visit. 


End file.
